


in spring, we bloom

by blackholes



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Famous Zayn, Florist AU, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7532425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackholes/pseuds/blackholes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Harry smiles at him, like he’s really happy Zayn is staying and Zayn thinks he falls a little in love with his two front teeth that protrude a tiny bit and are endlessly charming, very much like Harry himself.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>And just like that, Zayn knows he’s in trouble. </i></p><p> </p><p>or: the one where zayn gets married and meets florist harry styles who ruins his carefully crafted plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in spring, we bloom

**Author's Note:**

> special thanks to eve, my cheerleader who not only corrected all my mistakes but was also there for me when i wanted to delete everything. you're an angel!!
> 
> // contains some zigi.

Getting married is hard. Harder than Zayn had ever expected. The wedding date is still more than 6 months ahead of them but Gigi decided it was time to start planning already. They looked at venues, made the first draft of the guest list, and spent 3 hours on Pinterest looking at bridal hairstyles. It's a lot.

 

When Zayn complained about all of this work, Gigi raised an eyebrow at him and said, "You're the one who wanted a fairytale wedding, so don't start whining now. I would have been fine with a wedding at the county clerk's office." Sometimes Zayn feels like Gigi would be fine with no wedding at all, because her lips press into a thin line whenever someone asks to see her engagement ring. She rarely wears it these days, saying that she doesn't want to lose it on one of her photoshoots or get it dirty. She also develops a selective deaf ear when someone asks about the wedding date; but then again: they both do. Whenever Zayn is asked in interviews about his upcoming wedding he errs and ehms his way out of the question and says that they're still young and to which one interviewer politely argues that 27 is a perfectly good age to get married. Zayn is inclined to agree with that.

 

When he was younger, he pictured himself getting married by the time he was 25 and have kids before he turned 30. Louis says he's like Rachel from _Friends_ , only much worse because he proposed to Gigi a week before his 25th birthday like he wanted to quickly get married before his time ran out. Of course they didn't exchange rings in that week. Or the week after. Or, in fact, the two years after. They both agreed they still had time and needed to focus on their careers first.

 

But apparently Gigi's mom making noise about the wedding was enough to get Gigi to start planning it.

 

"I love my mom," Gigi once said after they finished another fruitless Pinterest session and ordered pizza, "But I swear to God, if she doesn't stop asking me about the wedding I'm going to actually kill her. So let's get this over with before I do something incredibly stupid."

 

And that's how Zayn ends up in a florist shop which is owned by the guy who did the floral arrangements for Kanye West's wedding. Kendall had told them about this shop and went on and on how brilliant that Harry bloke was and that he had a lot of experience with weddings.

 

Zayn would never have thought that Kayne West of all people would even go near a place like this. It’s small, for one thing, made even smaller by the various plants occupying the space. There was only a tiny wooden sign on the outside which reads _Greenwitch_ with a bad drawing of a witch holding a clock and a sunflower in each hand. Considering that this is Manhattan it’s not a bad pun, even if it’s a tad bit tacky.

 

“Hello?” Zayn calls after waiting five minutes for someone to show up. He wonders if the shop is actually closed and they just forgot to lock up.

 

“Sorry, sorry! Be right there,” a deep, honey-slow voice shouts from the back of the shop. It’s really nice and definitely British, which does something awful to him. Zayn inwardly curses himself when he catches himself running his hands through his hair like he actually cares what a stranger thinks of him.

 

A tall man stumbles through the backdoor, catching himself on the counter with both his hands.

 

“Hiiiii,” he says and - yeah okay. His voice is definitely not the only thing that is nice. He’s got a sweet face, too, smiling at Zayn with obscenely pink lips and big dimples. He should really not be this cute with a pink beanie shoved under the hood of a huge down jacket which, quite frankly, makes him look like a fucking marshmallow.

 

“I’m Harry, how can I help you?” Harry says, eyeing Zayn appreciatively. Zayn is horrified when he feels his face grow warm. He is used to people looking at him like that and telling him how good looking he is so there is no reason at all to get flustered like this.

 

“I.. Uhm. Kendall told me you did flowers for weddings. Is that right?” Zayn asks and tries to look right past Harry at the yellow tulips because he’s pretty sure he will do something stupid if he actually looks at him, like lean over the counter and test if Harry’s lips are as soft as they look.

 

“Oh right, for Gigi. Are you a friend of hers?” Harry asks, his green eyes gleaming with curiosity.

 

“Something like that.” Zayn says with a chuckle and quickly tries to change the topic. “I’m just here to take pictures for her cos she couldn’t make it here today. Has she told you which colors she wanted because if you have something in blue and yellow, that would be great.”

 

Harry nods and gestures Zayn to follow him out the back door. Zayn can’t help but ogle Harry’s ass and legs as he walks. They are really great and Zayn wonders what they look like out of skinny jeans. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything to you,” Harry laughs when Zayn looks at him skeptically. “Are you sure?” Zayn asks, way more flirty than he should, but then again harmless flirting has always been okay for Gigi and him so he figures, why not?

 

Harry blushes and Zayn freezes when he takes off his beanie and starts unzipping his jacket.

 

“I didn’t really mean that, mate,” he blurts out.

 

“What?” Harry asks, dumbfounded, his shirt already halfway unbuttoned and oh god, what kind of florist did Kendall recommend them?

 

Then he seems to realize what Zayn is on about and the colour is drained from his face.

 

“Oh my god, no,” Harry says and hastily buttons his shirt, “I would never - I’m not like that! It’s just that it’s always so cold inside because the plants need to be preserved. That’s why I always wear a jacket in the shop, but it’s too warm to wear it outside - and oh god. Please don’t think that of me.”

 

Zayn wants a hole to open up beneath his feet, fall into it and never return to the surface. He’s not sure if he has ever felt this embarrassed in his life, not even when he had to dance in front of the X Factor judges ten years ago.

 

“I’m so so sorry, Harry, I think I should go, sorry.” Zayn makes a quick run for the door but then Harry grabs his arm.

 

“Don’t go,” he says, tugging Zayn back into the garden. “Let's just forget about this, yeah? It's probably more embarrassing for me because I got rejected by a really fit guy without even trying.”

 

“Oh,” Zayn says, at a loss for words. He takes a step back towards Harry, so they are pretty close. “Alright, let’s forget that happened.”

 

Harry smiles at him, like he’s really happy Zayn is staying and Zayn thinks he falls a little in love with his two front teeth that protrude a tiny bit and are endlessly charming, very much like Harry himself.

 

And just like that, Zayn knows he’s in trouble.

 

#

 

In the end, Zayn stays in the garden at the back of the shop until his manager calls him and asks him where the fuck he is. Harry talked for hours about flowers and their meaning and how centerpieces could be arranged. From then, they start talking about their hobbies and their favourite movies. When they get to the topic of books, Zayn is reluctantly impressed by the literature Harry has read, since he never went to uni. Not that that is bad, but Zayn doesn’t know anyone who would read the entirety of _Ulysses_ out of their free will. “Tried to impress a bloke I met at a party.” Harry shrugged, “He said I reminded him of it because I tend to ramble. It wasn’t that bad.”

 

They are back inside and Zayn takes a few last pictures of the flowers for Gigi, who he feels incredibly bad about because she only came up when Harry asked Zayn what she could like. He should probably tell Harry that he plays a much more important part of the wedding than the bride’s flower boy. He turns around to tell Harry just that when Harry starts talking first.

 

“Listen,” he says, his toes pointed inwards and his hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He suddenly looks shy and Zayn has a horrible suspicion about what Harry is going to say next. “Would you like to get some coffee sometime? Like, talking here was really nice too but I do need to work sometimes… it could be a proper date if you want? I wrote my number down on the back of my business card so if you want you can give me a call?”

 

Zayn looks down at the card Harry hands him and true to his word, there are 10 neatly written digits with three x’s on the back. His throat is suddenly very dry.

 

“I can’t,” Zayn says, the phone number practically searing itself into the inside of his eyes with how hard he is staring at them. “I’m taken, sorry.”

 

“Oh,” Harry says and takes a step back. “I must have read something wrong there, I’m sorry. But, I mean, if you’re ever single again, then, give me a call? God, that sounds so bad, I mean not that I hope you will break up but I mean, like -”

 

“I’m getting married. That’s why I came today.” Zayn bursts out and finally looks up to see that Harry has stopped talking mid-gesticulating, his mouth open in surprise.

 

“I should have told you sooner, but there was just not the right moment, I guess.”

 

“Married? So you’re Gigi’s fiancé? The uh... singer?” Harry asks, disbelieving.

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t recognize me, honestly.” Zayn says.

 

Harry shrugs, looking down at his feet. “Sorry. It’s kind of my fault because I don’t really keep up with celebrities. Except maybe Beyoncé. But she’s less of a celebrity and more a legend.”

 

Zayn doesn’t point out that Harry is friends with Kendall and delivered Kim Kardashian’s wedding with flowers because after talking to him for hours, he is pretty sure Harry will wax up some speech about how _they are friends and not celebrities, Zayn_.

 

“God.” Harry says, slumping his back against the counter, “I feel so bad about this.”

 

Zayn suddenly feels like he’s kicked a newborn kitten so he takes a step closer, patting Harry on his arm, “Please don’t. It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have flirted with you.”

 

Harry looks up at him, hopeful eyes lighting up and smirking like a little devil. “So you _were_ flirting with me? And here I thought it was all me.”

 

Zayn chuckles. “You started it.”

 

“How did I start it?”

 

“You offered me sex when you lead me to the garden.”

 

“I did not!”, Harry gasps, ”That was your wishful thinking.”

 

“Was it?” Zayn smirks.

 

“Yes!”

 

“I thought you were giving me signals,”

 

“Trust me, if I had given signals you would have known,” Harry says, smirking and leaning his elbows against the counter behind him so his butterfly is fully visible.

 

Zayn doesn’t know whether Harry pulls him in or he leans closer but next thing he knows, they are kissing and it’s like he is pulled under by the current of the ocean, drowned by his own heartbeat and Harry’s scent.

 

Harry is an amazing kisser, carefully touching Zayn’s face and sucking on his lower lip and curling his tongue into Zayn’s in a way that shouldn’t be hot but is. It’s intoxicating and gets Zayn hard fast as fuck, even though it’s really just a kiss, but somehow it feels more intimate than anything he’s done in the past year. He can feel Harry’s breath hitch every time their lips part and then meet again and Zayn wants to make a song out of this sound, wants to write a whole album of it and then show it to the world and say _I did this, I made this sound happen. Most people go their whole life without hearing a sound like that and I did it. I did. I did. I did._

 

It’s when Harry starts kissing down Zayn’s neck and running his hands down his back that Zayn lets out an embarrassingly loud moan which startles him back into reality. For god’s sake, he’s engaged and making out with their florist whom he knows basically nothing about. He pushes away from Harry and takes a few steps back.

 

“I… I have to go or my manager is going to kill me,” Zayn says, anxious to get out of there.

 

“Oh, okay,” Harry breathes, running a hand through his hair. He looks properly shagged even though they didn’t even get that far. Zayn really needs to go before he does something he will regret even more. So he picks up the business card that fell to the floor and leaves with a small wave.

 

#

 

Things go back to normal after that day. Or as normal as they can get for Zayn. He has a photoshoot the next day and so does Gigi, so they don’t really get to spend time to plan the wedding. Zayn can’t help but feel relieved and the way Gigi smiles at him from across the couch tells him she must feel the same.

 

Things with Gigi are fine, as they always are. Sure, they don’t talk as much as they used to (mainly because Gigi has given up on getting Zayn to talk about his Real Feelings, thank god) but they still have banging sex. That night he makes her come twice in a row and when she sucks his dick he only thinks about Harry’s lips once. So on a whole, it’s not bad at all, Zayn thinks.

 

The crashing feeling of guilt comes at night when he wakes up for a wee and looks at Gigi’s peaceful sleeping face. They have been together for a little over three years now and he asked her to spend the rest of her life with him and he was lucky enough that this beautiful, smart person said yes to that. He shouldn’t have kissed Harry and he certainly shouldn’t have spent so much time thinking about it afterwards, so Zayn decides to change that. So on light feet, he tiptoes out of the room and fishes Harry’s business card out of his jeans pocket, his phone already in his other hand.

 

**hey**

 

_I’m sorry but who is this? It’s 2 AM here._

 

**sry, its zayn**

 

_Give me a sec._

 

To Zayn’s absolute and utter horror, his phone lights up with an incoming call from Harry. Who the fuck calls people nowadays? He hurries out into their balcony which is furthest away from their bedroom and probably masks any noise the best.

 

“Harry?”, he whispers into his phone, nervously trying to hide behind the curtains and looking down to the busy streets of Manhattan.

 

“Hi, Zayn,” Harry answers on the other side of the line. He sounds sleepy and his voice is even deeper, sounds even sweeter and slower like it’s dripping with expensive honey. Zayn imagines what it must be like to wake up to Harry’s voice every morning, the most gentle and beautiful alarm he can imagine. “Soz I’m calling you, ‘m too sleepy to stare at my screen and text. I hope that’s fine?”

 

It’s not actually, but Zayn could listen to Harry forever so “It’s fine.”

 

Harry yawns and it sounds like he’s getting comfortable in bed, and suddenly Zayn wishes he was there with him on the other line of the phone. It’s confusing and scary because he doesn’t know this person, not really. He doesn’t know his middle name or birthday or his favourite time of the day, which is a quintessential indication of character. He doesn’t know anything about Harry, but god. He wants to. He really, really wants to. Can’t even remember when he wanted something this much.

 

“Sorry I’m bothering you this late,” Zayn says after a long, not uncomfortable pause.

 

“You’re not bothering me,” Harry says, even though Zayn without a doubt woke him up.

 

“You’re too nice,” Zayn says because if someone had texted him at 2 in the bloody morning, he would have either told them to go fuck themselves or ignored them. And he would most definitely not have gone out of his way and called them.

 

Harry laughs. “I thought you were Niall. He’s my flatmate and he’s forgotten his phone here so I’m a bit worried about him.”

 

“You have a flatmate?” Zayn asks, genuinely curious. It’s like he’s a dry sponge that wants to soak up every bit of information about Harry that he can. He wants to burst with it, wants to take every scrap Harry will throw at him and remember it forever.

 

“Yeah, can’t afford my own flat in New York. He’s probably at the pub, I never know when he’s working.” Harry says. “I was lucky with Niall, because there are lots of eccentric people ‘round here who would make shitty roommates, you know?”

 

Zayn nods, absentmindedly before remembering that he’s on the phone and says “Yeah ‘course.” He doesn’t really know what that must be like. Sure, he had to live with a bunch of weirdos back in the X Factor days but he can’t imagine what it’s like to struggle to find nice people to permanently live with. For a while, when the One Direction trio was a fresh new thing, he shared an apartment with Louis and Liam, but he never had to worry about not getting along with them.

 

“I think you would like him,” Harry says, “I bet you two would get along very well- He’s also kind of a musician. There’s this open mic night every few weeks at the pub and he plays the guitar for people and we sometimes sing _Angie_ together which is always fun. You should join us someday.”

 

“I would love to,” Zayn says, mostly out of reflex, but also because he actually does want to do that. There’s a phantom pain in his heart that aches for the kind of normalcy you see in movies and read about in books. Just regular things, like going out to the pub with the boy he likes and meeting his friends and drunkenly singing along to _The Rolling Stones_ without a billion pictures and videos hitting the internet the next day.

 

“Really?” Harry suddenly sounds very awake and excited, like a puppy who has just learned a new trick. It’s adorable.

 

“Yeah,” Zayn replies, honestly. “Dunno if I would sing though. I don’t want to be recognized.”

 

“You have to sing! I want to hear you sing live,” Harry says, still sounding like an excited new born, “I watched videos of you and it would be a shame not to hear you sing.”

 

“You watched my videos?” Zayn asks, incredulous. Warmth floods his cheeks and there’s a weird feeling in his stomach, a mix of embarrassment and something that Zayn doesn’t want to name nor examine.

 

“Just a few,” Harry admits, and Zayn can practically hear him smiling, “I’ve actually heard of a lot of songs of yours but I never knew what you looked like? Or, I knew what you used to look like back when One Direction was plastered everywhere. It was kind of a pleasant surprise to see how you’ve grown up, to be honest. Not only appearance wise but also music wise I guess? I think my favourite song of yours has to be Fool For You.”

 

“Really?” Zayn asks. It’s one of the first songs he had recorded as a solo artist and also one of the most overlooked ones. It didn’t really fit the album but Zayn liked that it was different, liked that it showed another side of him. For the longest time during and after 1D he struggled with how he was perceived, not because he didn’t like the leather jackets and singing about sex but because no one understood there was more of him, chose only to highlight certain parts of him.

 

Under his breath, Harry begins to hum the tune of the song and Zayn all at once has to let out a bark of laughter. It’s been so long since he’s sung this one but it comes naturally to him, like something tapped into his heart and made him remember all the words. It’s when Harry joins him in singing that he can’t stop his face from splitting from how hard he is smiling.

 

Harry sounds absolutely beautiful.

 

There is so much emotion in his voice, so much raw feeling reflected in the raspiness with which he rolls out words. He doesn’t hit the notes quite right but it doesn’t matter, not really, because it still sounds better than most singers could ever sing it.

 

“Why aren’t you singing anymore?” Harry asks, laughing delightfully like there’s nothing he would rather do in the middle of the night than sing someone a song.

 

“Jus’ wanted to listen to you for a bit,” Zayn says softly, looking up at the vast, dimly lit sky above. He has no idea when he last saw the stars and the moon or even the dooming, pitch black sky. New York is always brightly lit, banishing any star from its night sky. It’s the city that never ever sleeps but here’s the thing: Zayn loves sleeping. He needs his peace and quiet, needs to visit home more often to ground himself. It’s weird though, because Bradford is hardly quiet with his sisters arguing all the time and his aunties visiting whenever they want. But he feels at _peace_ there in a way he never did here. Hearing a familiar accent though, that always helps lift his homesickness a bit and talking to Harry is no exception - there is comfort in meeting a fellow countryman in a foreign land. This must be it, Zayn thinks, this must be why he’s so relaxed and happy around Harry. There is no other reason. There can’t be.

 

“I didn’t call to audition for you by the way,” Harry jokes after a long pause. “But if I did call for that, how did I do, Mr. Cowell?”

 

Zayn laughs out louder than he probably should and then can’t stop chuckling even though it wasn’t even that funny. “You get a yes from me,” he mimics his ex-mentor and Harry absolutely loses it.

 

“That was spot on!” he laughs into the phone. “Do one more!”

 

“Oh uhm…Lads! Be more serious, please!” Zayn mock shouts into the darkness and can’t help but grin from ear to ear when Harry laughs even harder.

 

“You’re really good at this,” Harry says once he catches his breath again, “Can you do other celebrities?”

 

“Not really,” Zayn admits, “I’m only good at doing Simon Cowell because he used to scare me a bit back in X Factor, that's why his voice has burned itself into my brain.”

 

Harry is silent on the other side of the line and for a minute Zayn thinks he must have fallen back asleep until he starts talking again in a sentimental tone, “I almost tried out X Factor too,” he says and Zayn’s heart starts beating faster with the feeling of realization. They could have met much sooner, they could have been in a band together, they could have been friends. _Could have, could have, could have._

 

“Why didn’t you?” Zayn asks, slowly.

 

Harry audibly shrugs, like it doesn’t really bother him that they could have known each other much earlier. “I had to work a shift at the bakery. And then the years after that I was busy with college and I couldn’t compete with a band like yours in the music industry anyway, so I finished school and then tried music again on the other side of the planet.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“I became a superstar, obviously,” Harry says with a chuckle, “No, of course I didn’t. Nothing really happened- I busked for a while, then tried out modelling for a while. That’s how I met Kendall, at a modelling gig. I also worked part time at a florist across from where I used to live - in a shitty apartment in Queens with five flatmates - and through Kendall I got my boss their first celebrity wedding gig I guess? After a few years I decided to open my own shop because I did most of the work anyway and brought the clients. And that’s all that happened.”

 

“Do you ever...wonder what it would be like if you had made it? Like….do you sometimes wish you had made it?” Zayn asks, hoping he doesn’t sound condescending. He’s just genuinely curious about this because he constantly wonders what it would be like for him if he _hadn’t_ become famous. If he had gone to uni like all his mates and gotten a white collar job just like them. Maybe he would be a teacher now or a graphic designer. He always daydreams about going out without teetering on a panic attack because someone might recognize him, take a bad picture of him and turn him into the next internet meme.

 

Harry takes a while to think about that question, like he really cares. “I used to, I think. Along the road though, I stopped thinking about _what could have been_ s and started to focus on the present. I don’t think there is this one single path that leads to happiness, you know? I think there are many of them and one isn’t necessarily worse than the other. Just do whatever makes you happy, and don’t hold onto dreams just because they have existed longer than others.”

 

“Oh wow. You’re a wise one.” Zayn is genuinely impressed with that and then thinks about his own life. He really should stop torturing himself with thinking about alternative universes. Maybe if he would live more in the moment like Harry did he would also develop small laughter lines along his cheeks, and maybe they would look as charming on him as they do on Harry.

 

Harry laughs. “Everyone is a wise ass at this time of the night.”

 

“Can’t argue with that.”

 

There’s another long silence sitting between them in which Zayn listens to Harry’s calm breathing getting even calmer until he hears soft snoring.

Zayn smiles to himself as he hangs up as he hangs up the phone and hums Fool For You into the cold night.

 

#

 

It’s a month after Zayn first started texting Harry when he gets invited to the open mic night at the pub his mate is working at.

 

They have been texting pretty much every day and sometimes Harry even called him when work was slow. They talked about both nothing and everything and Zayn doesn’t think he’s ever met anyone who tells as many bad jokes as Harry. He also hopes that Harry has unlimited calling because their conversations can last hours with how much he likes to ramble on (which Zayn has to admit, is actually quite adorable).

 

Sometimes they play this game where they hum melodies and the other has to guess which song it is and sing along. Harry has a horrible tendency to hum songs which are more than twice as old as him, but Zayn is always up for surprising Harry with his expertise on _Pink Floyd_.

 

“You should come to open mic night tomorrow,” Harry suggests, after Zayn mentioned he didn’t have any plans. Of course he tapped right into that trap.

 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Zayn says hesitating, “What if I get recognized?”

 

“You won’t! Pleaaaase, Zayn!” Harry begs, “It’s full of hermits like me who don’t keep up with current popular culture so no one will recognize you. Plus, you could wear a beanie and glasses and try not to look good for once.”

 

Zayn decides to let that last comment slide and sighs. “If you insist.” he mumbles and already regrets this decision.

 

The next day, Zayn can’t concentrate on work at all because his thoughts keep straying to Harry and meeting him tonight. He’s anxious to meet and impress Niall and he spends an embarrassing amount of time trying to find him on any social media platform. Of course his search is hopeless since he doesn’t even know his last name. When he looks up Harry he only finds a monochrome instagram which could actually be anyone’s. Zayn has to scroll down to 176 weeks ago until he finds Harry’s face grinning at him next to a girl with pink hair and accidentally double taps on the photo. With utter horror he watches the gray heart change to a mocking red and he wants to fling his phone out the window. He decides not to do that and instead turns it off altogether and goes home to change. Maybe Harry won’t even notice and they’ll hang out as usual tonight and not mention that Zayn has totally creeped up on Harry’s social media.

 

When he gets home, he’s pleasantly surprised to find Gigi already there. It doesn’t happen often that they’re both at home at the same time but she’s there lounging in nothing but her leggings and bralette, eating what Zayn thinks are kale crispies.

 

“You’re home early, babe.” Gigi greets him when Zayn sits down on the other end of the couch and puts her feet in his lap. “Everything alright at work?”

 

Zayn nods absentmindedly, rubbing the tense tendons of her feet because he knows how much she hates wearing high heels despite that being a crucial part of her job description.

 

“I’m gonna go out tonight,” Zayn says, swallowing. “Wanna come?”

 

Gigi puts down her phone, giving him all of her attention. “What is it?” she asks, curious.

 

“An open mic thing, like karaoke or something, dunno. I’ve been invited by a mate.” Zayn tries not to look away at that word. It feels dishonest to call Harry that even though they both decided they wanted to be friends and nothing more.

 

Gigi looks like she’s contemplating going until she shakes her head and says “Nah, I’m good. You know I love your voice, babe, but I don’t want anyone to force me to sing.”

 

“You’re not that bad,” Zayn conciliates. Gigi rolls her eyes at him like she knows he’s lying.

 

#

  


The pub is filled to the rim and Zayn wants nothing more than to go home.

 

The only thing that keeps him from leaving is watching Harry bounce around on the makeshift stage, preparing for a song. There’s a blond guy on the guitar who Harry talks animatedly with and who Zayn can only assume must be that roommate he is supposed to meet tonight. Anxiously, he leans against the brick wall close enough to watch the performances but not too conspicuous. At the front, Harry gives him a quick thumbs up and a dimpling smile, which almost immediately settles Zayn a bit.

 

“Hello everyone!” an Irish voice shouts into the microphone to get everyone’s attention, “Welcome to open mic night! Most of you are familiar with this, but if you’re not go google it,” he jokes, “First one as always is Harry, my flatmate ‘cos he promised to do my laundry for a week, and I really need clean underwear. Sorry guys!”

 

The crowd laughs loudly, and there’s one older man who randomly yells “We love ya Harry!” into the night and Zayn briefly wonders if he should worry about Harry’s fanbase. The lights dim a fraction and at the front, Harry steps in front of the microphone in his sheer top and brimmed hat which should look ridiculous, but somehow only make him look charming and sweet. He smiles nervously in Zayn’s direction, like he’s eager to impress him so Zayn sticks his tongue out in a silly grimace, making Harry laugh under the soft spotlight and for a second, Zayn’s heart stops at the sight of this beautiful boy and his bunny teeth.

 

Zayn is so distracted by Harry he doesn’t even notice the familiar smooth tune coming from Niall’s guitar. Only when Harry starts to sing does he realize it’s his song. The words he once wrote for his first album when he was young and clumsy and a little bit hopelessly obsessed with love, now echoed in Harry’s raspy voice again and Zayn still can’t believe how well he does it. It’s like it was written exactly for him, the way his mouth forms around the words, the way he changes the high notes into something that fits him better. It’s perfect.

 

When Harry finishes and the last chord is played, the crowd erupts in loud cheers and yells for encores. And looking at Harry positively glowing under the praise, Zayn has a hard time believing that he is the famous one and not him. Sure, Zayn has the looks and the voice but seeing Harry perform is like watching a fish swim. Where Zayn has always struggled with singing for a live audience and engaging with them, it seems to come naturally to Harry, like he was born for it.

 

“How was I?” Harry asks nervously when they sit down at a booth that is secluded enough that no one will look at them twice. They are sitting side by side to watch the other participants and Niall, but are not quite touching. For some reason, Zayn has to fight the urge to move closer.

 

“Perfect.” Zayn answers, still smiling in awe like a complete idiot. It’s just that Zayn has worked with a lot of people, some of which were music business legends, but it’s been a while since he’s been properly impressed by anybody. And here he is now, in a dingy pub on a Thursday night, with his fingers itching to write a song, a tune about being young and reckless and in love. It’s as liberating as it is scary.

 

“You don’t have to be nice and lie,” Harry says, looking down at his lap. Zayn wants nothing more than to grab Harry’s face and kiss his frown away and then kiss his lips into a smile, but he is strong and manages not to do that.

 

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Zayn says instead which makes Harry quirk an eyebrow at him, reminding him of the first time they met. “Again,” he amends. They both burst out in laughter and Zayn wants to take that sound and put it in his pocket to replay on gloomy days. _We’re friends_ , Zayn thinks and repeats it three times in a row in his head. They are, and Zayn thinks he’s doing great as Harry’s friend: Coming over to watch him perform, always answering both his stupid texts and calls, never thinking about what it would be like to kiss him again. Granted, he still has to work on the last one but it’s still a friendship under construction, so overall, he isn’t doing bad at all with being friends with Harry.

 

The next hour or so they just watch people sing and giggle about some particularly bad ones even though Harry claims that “We shouldn’t laugh about other people, that is mean and bad for Karma, Zayn.” A small girl takes over guitar duty from Niall and Zayn immediately feels like throwing up even though he has only drank one beer. He has no idea why he is so nervous about meeting Harry’s flatmate and best friend, but he is. He wants to make a good impression and make Niall like him and want to hang out with him.

 

As it turns out, that is not hard at all.

 

“Holy shit,” Niall whispers, eyes big as saucers, when he spots him tucked in next to Harry, “You’re Zayn Malik. I fucking love your music, oh my god.”

 

“Thanks, you were ace up there too.” Zayn says, looking around to see if anyone has overheard and noticed him. Luckily Niall seems to get the hint and sits across the booth, shielding him a bit more.

 

Niall punches Harry in the arm, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Ow!”, Harry rubs his arm like he was seriously injured, “I didn’t know you liked his music?”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Niall stage whispers across the table, “I constantly listen to his music and used to cover his band’s songs, how could you not know?”

 

“You used to cover our songs?” Zayn asks, intrigued.

 

Niall nods enthusiastically. “Seeing you guys on TV made me try out for the X Factor too a year later. Was kicked out after a few rounds though,” he says sheepishly.

 

Zayn gives him a sympathetic smile. “I was, too. Until they put me back in with Lou and Liam of course. So don’t take it to heart.”

 

Niall smiles brightly at him and Zayn understands why Harry likes him so much. He’s like a human lightbulb and cupcake at once.

 

From then on, Zayn really hits it off with Niall and they talk about music and the band and Niall was not kidding when he said he was a fan. He can recite their last album to a tee and Zayn can’t help but be impressed because not even he himself can do that. Next to him, Harry lets the two of them do the talking and looks between them like he couldn’t be more pleased with his friends getting along.  

 

Harry is off to get them more drinks when Niall leans against the table, looks into Zayn’s eyes uncharacteristically deep, and asks “So, how are things with Gigi?”

 

“Fine?” Zayn says, confused. Niall narrows his eyes at him. What did he do?  “Why?”

 

“What’s this with Harry then?” Niall interrogates, his voice suddenly cold and hard.

 

“What do you mean?” Zayn asks in return, trying to pretend that he’s innocent.

 

“I could be wrong but I’m not blind, I mean that you two are pretty close, yeah? And the way Harry talked about you… Are you leading him on on purpose?”

 

Zayn flinches. He wouldn’t. He would never do that to Harry. They had both agreed to be friends and that’s what they are. That’s what this is: three friends hanging out. But now he feels like he’s being investigated and insulted by someone he’s known for all but an hour.

 

“I’m not leading him on.” Zayn says, defensively.

 

“Aren’t you?” Niall questions and his eyes glint in the dark like he’s a lot sharper than he lets others believe. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved your music. I really do, but if you hurt my best friend you’re dead.”

 

Zayn grinds his teeth. That is not how he imagined the night going at all. It all started so well and now this. “I don’t have to listen to this,” he says with quiet anger and slides out of the booth, pulling down his hood.

 

Once he is out of the stuffy pub where he can breathe again, the realization hits him. He isn’t angry at Niall for saying he wanted more from Harry but because Niall was _right_. He was absolutely and brutally right. Zayn wants to hug Harry and never let go, he wants to hold his hands whenever Harry is telling one of his ridiculous stories, he wants to feel Harry’s skin on his, wants to wrap Harry’s legs around his head and drown in the feeling.

 

It’s not love, not yet. Zayn knows he isn’t in love with Harry, but he would be naive to believe that there isn’t a strong magnetic pull between them.

 

“Hey!”

 

Zayn turns around and sees Harry jogging towards him. He looks flushed and hurried and upset. Shit, he should at least have said goodbye.

 

“Everything okay? Why did you leave?”

 

“Yeah, uh,” He needs to come up with an excuse, quick. Then he remembers that he promised Harry not to lie anymore and decides to just be honest with him. “It’s just that Niall said something and I completely overreacted, I’m sorry I just left like that.”

 

“What did Niall say?” Harry asks, frowning.

 

“It was nothing, really, I -”

 

“No, tell me!” Harry interrupts, taking a step closer. Zayn looks around them and luckily, there aren’t a lot of people on the street. Still, he has a streak for paranoia of getting spotted by fans so he tugs Harry into a dark alleyway, praying to God that no one recognized him, or his publicist will murder him.

 

“It really wasn’t a big deal,” Zayn whispers. He feels stupid even talking about this and curses his short temper that put him in this position. As a response, Harry just crosses his arms over his chest, clearly not satisfied with this answer. Zayn sighs in despair, and tells him what happened.

 

“Niall… he asked if I had ulterior motives with you I guess?”

 

“Ulterior motives?”

 

“He asked if there was something between us and I said, no, because of course not,” Zayn says and winces when Harry takes a step back like he’s closing off.

 

“Right.” Harry says, looking at his feet with his hands awkwardly shoved into his jeans pockets like he doesn’t know what else he should do with them. All of a sudden, the air between them is uncomfortable and Zayn has no idea what to say. It doesn’t help that he has the social skills of a forest goblin, but Harry seems to understand because he carries on.

 

“I’m sorry Niall intimidated you, I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” Harry says, shrugging. “He really is nice and I would hate if you wouldn’t be friends because of what just happened.”

 

Zayn thinks about this. Actually, he would have loved to befriend Niall and they got along well, too. He’s not even angry at Niall, only at his well developed observation skills.

 

“I’m the one who behaved like a jerk,” he admits, “In retrospect, I overreacted. It was really not a big deal, to be honest?”

 

Harry gives him a little smile that promptly makes Zayn grin back. “If you say so. Come back in?” Harry asks, pointing his thumb into the direction of the pub. Zayn’s stomach skips at the thought of going back into that big crowd. He’s lucky he hasn’t been recognized yet and he doesn’t really want to test his luck any further, so,

 

“Actually, I think I’m knackered,” he says and it’s not even a lie. He really is exhausted and it’s gotten quite late, too. “Think I’m gonna head home.”

 

“Oh okay,” Harry lets out a disappointed breath. “See you then?”

 

“Yeah, uh… This was a lot fun, yeah? Thanks for inviting me.”

 

“You haven’t sung, though,” Harry points out, teasing. Zayn has to let out a laugh, more out of relief than anything because he’s glad that this weird tension between them has evaporated and that Harry is back to his sweet and mischievous self.

 

“Listen, uhm. If you want, you and Niall could come visit me in the studio? Maybe Lou and Liam will be there, too, and Niall has mentioned how much of a Louis fan he was growing up? I want to make it up to him, you know?”

 

Harry looks at him with big eyes, a disbelieving smile half forming on his lips. “Would you really? He really likes him.”

 

“Yeah, ‘course. It’s the least I could do after running out on him and making you worry,” Zayn says, eyes crinkling from how hard he smiles from making Harry happy.

 

“You’re so nice,” Harry whispers, a full, dimpling smile on his face.  

 

 _I’m not nice at all_ , Zayn thinks, _I want to taste your smile, and I’m engaged to someone else. I’m not nice at all._

 

#

 

It takes some planning and scheduling to get Louis and Liam to New York at the same time. They have wanted to get together for a while anyway, so it’s not like he’s flying them in just to impress Harry and Niall, no not at all.

 

They are supposed to get to Zayn’s apartment soon and he is positively buzzing with excitement. He hasn’t seen his two best mates in ages. They are admittedly not the best at keeping in touch with each of them having their own busy lives: Louis is busy with scouting musicians and looking after Freddie while Liam rolls out hit after hit and meeting with industry heavyweights to write with them. And Zayn is working on his third album and well, he is also supposed to be planning his wedding.

 

“You seem happy today,” Gigi observes from across the living room. She smiles warmly from the windowsill where she likes to drink her green tea every morning, her favourite spot in the whole wide world, she once proclaimed it. (‘Better than my lap?’ Zayn had asked, young and daring and corny. ‘Baby, you have no idea,’ Gigi had answered, quirking an eyebrow at him.)

 

“Yeah, it’s been awhile since Louis and Liam have been here. I’ve really missed them, you know.” Zayn says, shrugging.

 

Gigi looks down at the city, her face beautifully illuminated by the orange morning sunrays. Sometimes Zayn can’t believe his luck. “Do you think it would be easier if you also lived down in LA?”

 

Zayn thinks about being near his friends and his godchild, thinks about the fact that he doesn’t really have a support system here. Not in the way he would in London or LA or Bradford. “I love New York,” Zayn says and finds himself meaning it. There are less paparazzi and the lifestyle is cool and, overall, New York has more interesting people. People with dimples and green eyes and a smile so kind Zayn wants to melt. New York isn’t as insufferable as it used to be for Zayn.

 

“Do you really?” Gigi asks, looking at him with squinted eyes like she can see right through him. Her mouth is set in a grim line when she asks, “Do you want to move to LA when we’re married?”

 

There is a long pause in which she looks at him with sharp eyes, like this is a test Zayn is pretty sure he is failing. “Do you?” he asks instead, in all his awkward glory.

 

“I don’t know,” Gigi sighs, sounding tired and weary. “This has become my home, you know? This city never sleeps and it makes me want to never sleep. It’s so bright and colorful and beautiful. I just. I feel like I fit here.” She finishes her raving with a clumsy shrug, “But LA is nice too. My family lives there and Kendall, too. My support system is there.”

 

Being the perfect boyfriend he is, Zayn doesn’t point out that Gigi has a pretty solid support system here, too. Making friends is like second nature for her. Being nice and open and social comes easy to her in a way that never did to Zayn, and he can’t help but be jealous of that. He isn’t doing too shabby right now though with befriending Harry and soon Niall, two almost genuine New Yorkers.

 

Zayn has no idea what to reply to Gigi and thanks Allah when the doorbell rings. The look she gives him tells him they’re not finished with this conversation, but she still gets up to presumably get dressed.

 

“Open the goddamn door!” a muffled voice hollers from the hallway, followed by another familiar voice gasping “Louis, be quiet!”

 

And Zayn can’t help it, his whole face breaks out in a smile. How he’s missed his two idiots. He sprints to the front door and swings it open. “How dare you speak in such a language now that you have a son?” is the first thing he says to Louis.

 

All of a sudden, he’s being knocked off of his feet and he’s lying on the floor with a handful of Louis. He’s being hugged tightly against his chest, and Zayn can’t resist but bury his nose in Louis’ slightly greasy hair. It should be gross but if you can live with Louis for two years, nothing will really gross you out anymore. It doesn’t even smell that bad, only like shampoo and Louis and, inexplicably, like home.

 

“Good to know you’re still the little shit as always,” Louis says, groaning as he gets up (or, as Liam gets him up). Zayn makes the mistake of saying “Right back at you,” to Louis which escalates into a full-fledged wrestling fight Liam has to ultimately break up, presumably once he gets bored of watching two grown men grapple with each other like five-year olds.

 

There’s a small part in Zayn that is incredibly relieved that being around Louis and Liam feels as comfortable as it always did. Meeting with old friends can be tricky sometimes; the connection you once had with them can be gone or you have changed too much for them or you realize that the bond you once had was just situational.

 

They end up watching Freddie videos and photos on the TV from Louis’ phone when Gigi pops in to say a quick hi to the guys before leaving again for work, informing Zayn she won’t be home until late. Louis gives her a tight smile and a nod which Gigi returns, somehow even more tense. There was a period of time the two of them navigated outright hostile territory when Zayn had left the band and Louis was angry that Zayn had found other people to surround himself with. Zayn still has hope that they will someday get along.

 

“So how’s the wedding planning going?” Liam asks after Louis has shown them the sixth video of Freddie at toddler’s football practice.

 

“Uh,” Zayn says, ever so eloquent, “We’re working on it.”

 

“Really? Do you have a venue yet? Do you have a guest list yet? That is more important than you might think because you need to know how many people will come to book a venue. Jess and I completely underestimated that when we got married.” Zayn barely has enough self control to not roll his eyes at Liam. Ever since he has gotten married he thinks he’s an expert on weddings despite the fact that he didn’t even lift a finger and neither did his wife because they hired a wedding planner.

 

“We have a rough guests list and a color scheme,” Zayn says, struggling not to sound like a petulant teenager that is made to talk about something they don’t want to talk about.

 

“Oh really?” Liam asks and fully turns his body like he thinks this is going to be a pleasant and welcome conversation. Zayn loves Liam and his good heart but sometimes, swear to God, he can’t read the mood for shit. From the other side of the couch, Louis observes them with sharp eyes that make Zayn feel even more squeamish.

 

“We’ve actually already found a florist and met with him. Or, I did.” Louis narrows his eyes at him, which is never a good sign.

 

“That’s great! Anything else?”

 

“Uh, Gigi and I are really busy, so...”

 

“Oh, why don’t you hire a wedding planner then? Jess and I did and it was the best decision ever.”

 

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, now annoyed. He knew that this would be brought up by Liam but he had still hoped that he would get to spend time with his two best mates without talking about wedding stuff.

 

“Oh who cares about wedding planners,” Louis declares, leaning forward and looking at Zayn like he’s prey. “I’m more interested as to why you went to the florist on your own. That doesn’t strike me as very Zayn-y.”

 

Leave it to Louis to find your sour spot and then push his finger on it.

 

“Gigi bailed on me that day,” Zayn defends himself, “Besides, I did a good job choosing the flowers without her. Harry helped me.”

 

“And Harry is…?”

 

“The florist. We’ve actually become friends since I’ve been to his shop.” Zayn says and decides that now is a good time to tell them about tonight. “And I’ve invited him and his friend over tonight to hang out with us.”

 

“Oh Zayn, that’s cool. I’m looking forward to meeting them and I’m just so happy that you have found friends here,” Liam says, clapping Zayn on the back, his eyes crinkling and shiny from his genuine happiness for Zayn. Sometimes, Liam reminds him of a strange combination of his mom and dad and frankly, it can be a lot.

 

“Yeah it’s great that you have found friends here,” Louis drawls, the emphasis on friends strangely pointed. Zayn looks at him harshly, daring him to say more but Louis just smirks at him and then proceeds to show them another video of Freddie aimlessly kicking a tiny football.

 

#

 

**Hey. We’re outside, buzz us in. x**

 

Zayn only frets a little bit when he gets the message in the middle of trying to follow his mum’s recipe for chicken jalfrezi. He runs to the front door, buzzing them in and waiting in the hallway for the elevator to ding. His flat is probably not that hard to find since there is only one other apartment on the floor, which Zayn thinks is occupied by a stockbroker or something, but he still wants to greet Harry and Niall at the door.

 

“Are they here?” Louis yells from the living room as he is likely kicking Liam’s ass in Mario Kart if the way Liam curses is any indication.

 

“Yeah and you better be on your best behaviour tonight, Lou!” Zayn yells back to which Louis only maniacally laughs.

 

Finally, the elevator spills out one normal looking guy and one guy dressed in a silk shirt, a leopard coat and ripped jeans.

 

“Heeey,” Harry says when he spots Zayn, “Thanks for inviting us, this is a really nice building you’re living in.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, you really didn’t have to do this.” Niall says, sheepish and apologetic at once.

 

Zayn gives him a warm smile that hopefully communicates that all is well between them. The way Niall beams back at him tells him it did and a weight is lifted off of Zayn’s heart. Now he only has to worry about Louis and Liam getting along with his new friends.

 

“You bought cake?” Zayn asks Harry, looking at the cake box he’s carrying in his arms.

 

“Oh right,” Harry says like he completely forgot about the weight. “It’s like a guest gift? Niall said it’s old fashioned to give them but it’s only polite in my opinion. And I made it myself so you know it comes from my, uhm heart.”

 

“You made it yourself?” Zayn asks as Niall simultaneously whispers “Oh boy” under his breath. It is incredibly and unbelievably sweet of Harry to do that and Zayn can’t believe he has befriended the real life equivalent of a disney princess. “That’s so lovely, but you really didn’t have to do that. But thank you so much, babe.”

 

Harry blushes a deep scarlet red and Zayn inwardly curses himself for wondering if this is also the color he turns when he is aroused. He really needs to get a grip of himself.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry says, “I used to be a baker, you know?”

 

Actually, Zayn does know because Harry has mentioned this at least three times already. He still nods politely as he ushers them inside and takes their coats.

 

“Your place is gorgeous,” Harry says with wide eyes as Zayn guides them to the living room.

 

“Really?” Zayn asks, trying to hide his smile. “It’s alright, I suppose.”

 

Niall lets out a disbelieving laugh. “If this is just alright to you then we’re never going to invite you to our flat,” he jokes.

 

“Our flat isn’t that bad,” Harry faintly reasons. “It’s… charismatic.”

 

“Esoteric, more like, with all the weird candles that fill up our space.”

 

“Heeey.”

 

Zayn can’t help but laugh out loud at Harry’s offended expression. It gets even more adorable when he turns his pout at Zayn like he betrayed Harry.

 

“Oi, what’s so funny?” Louis asks with his head hanging from the door to the living room. Mere seconds later, Liam’s head pops out right under Louis’, looking like a shy puppy keenly eyeing new visitors.

 

“Oh fuck me,” Niall whispers, “I’m in the same room as One Direction, fuck.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says before Louis can say anything to that, “So, this is Niall and this is Harry. That’s Louis and Liam.”

 

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Harry says politely and shakes their hands while Niall still stands there flabbergasted.

 

“So you’re Harry.” Louis observes with his typical catlike stare. “Zayn has told us so much about you.”

 

Harry opens his mouth to say something but Zayn quickly says, “How about you guys go hang out in the living room while Louis and I go cook in the kitchen?”

 

“No thanks,” Louis says cheerfully before bouncing back to play more wii. Zayn is absolutely going to murder him if he plays one of his mind games tonight.

 

“I can help,” Harry offers. Zayn’s sure this is not the best idea. Every single time he’s left alone with Harry he can’t help but think about sliding on his knees and sucking him to oblivion. It’s one of the many problems Zayn has to work on.

 

Still, Zayn nods like he can’t help the way Harry is looking at him with big, expectant eyes. He could probably ask Zayn to hide a body with this look on his face and Zayn would agree to it. It’s unbelievable how very weak he is, and he’s glad that Louis wasn’t here for this because he sure as hell would never hear the end of it.

 

“This smells amazing,” Harry says when they’re in the kitchen. “I didn’t know you could cook, Zayn.”

 

“It’s all from my mum’s recipes,” Zayn explains. “Even an amateur like me can follow them”

 

“You’re just being humble. I bet you could be a chef or something. A really gorgeous one.” Harry pauses and Zayn can see how his eyes grow twice their size in a matter of milliseconds. “I mean, like, not in a hot kind of way, I mean not that you’re not hot or anything? I just meant that you’re quite, uhm good looking, platonically.”

 

Zayn wants to scream but ultimately decides to not do that and instead just lets out a nervous chuckle. “You’re also… platonically good looking.”

 

Harry laughs heartily at that and does that thing where he shakes his head and then runs his hand through his hair. He seems to be doing that a lot but Zayn doesn’t mind at all - he is kind of fascinated by Harry’s hair which almost reaches his chest and shines like silk. And it’s weird because in New York a ton of long-haired hipsters are walking around and he never had the urge to kiss any of them or touch their curls to see if they are as bouncy as they look.

 

He manages to not do any of that as they prepare dinner together. Harry studies every recipe with a dead set serious look on his face, determined not to mess anything up even though Zayn has already done most of the work.

 

They work together surprisingly well. Harry is actually quite good at cooking, has a good feeling for when something is browning up just enough in the pan before stirring it and when something is done cooking. Zayn only has to help him with dosing the spices, but apart from that Harry is more helpful than Louis and Liam put together. Liam means well and tries to help as much as possible but ends up standing in the way whereas Louis doesn’t even try to lift a finger unless he is absolutely starving.

 

It feels strangely… comfortable to have Harry navigate through his kitchen like it’s nothing, like he belongs here. By no means would he describe his place as homey with all its steel appliances and too new, too shiny furniture, but right now it comes close to what he used to feel like in Bradford: surrounded by people he likes and their noise, which makes him feel completely at ease. He can hear Louis’ yelling and Niall’s laughter just down the hall, and Harry humming under his breath, and Zayn’s ears sing with the beauty of it all.

 

“Thanks for helping, by the way,” Zayn says when they’re cutting veggies side by side, “You didn’t have to, though.”

 

“No, no, it’s my pleasure. I like cooking together a lot. Niall and I try to do it at least once a week,” Harry says, smiling.

 

“You’re really good friends, huh?” Zayn asks, struggling to sound casual. He knows that Harry has mentioned before that Niall was his best friend but it doesn’t hurt to check. Not that it’s important to Zayn because he and Harry are really just friends despite that one kiss which was pretty much meaningless. Zayn has kissed friends before in a completely friendly way. To be fair, the kiss with Harry didn’t feel strictly friendly but, really, who cares about details?

 

“Yeah, we met through craigslist and have been friends ever since. Had a stroke of luck that day I reckon, because usually I don’t have great experience with that hell of a website? Once I bought a couch from there and it was full of bed bugs. Never trust someone who sells furniture for five bucks.”

 

Zayn nods like he completely understands what Harry is babbling on about when he doesn’t even know what craigslist looks like. It’s a painful reminder that Harry is living a life Zayn has often wondered about, a life of a normal 20-something year old, still figuring things out. Don’t get him wrong, he will probably never stop being grateful for his fans, who allowed him to do his dream job, who enabled him to buy his mum the house she deserves, who are the reason why he has a roof above his head. But he also wants to know what it’s like to go somewhere without fearing someone will see him, wants to know what it’s like to fuck up without it being splashed on every gossip site on the internet, wants to know what it’s like to complain about roommates and college professors.

 

“I think we’re done!” Harry says, clapping his hands together, completely oblivious to Zayn’s quarter-life crisis. “I’m going to put these on the - hey is everything okay?” he asks, casting worried eyes on Zayn.

 

“Oh, yeah, Everything’s cool. Let’s get the others, yeah?” Zayn says, a smile plastered on his face.

 

Harry looks at him skeptically but luckily doesn’t protest.

 

#

 

Dinner goes pretty great. Zayn can’t remember the last time he has laughed so much, has felt so content. Possibly with Gigi, back when they did more than just fall into bed with each other. She once made him laugh so hard he pissed his pants which was probably one of the less glamorous moments in their relationship.

 

Louis and Liam have immediately taken to Niall, practically adopting him to their little group. It’s a bit harder with Harry because Louis is still wary of him and looks at him like he’s expecting Harry to turn out to be a murderer or something. Zayn’s rusty at reading Louis’ mind but if he had to guess it’s because he thinks Harry is ridiculous and can’t be a real person. He spends an unbelievable amount of time both kicking Louis under the table whenever he asks Harry mocking questions and reassuring Harry to just ignore Louis.

 

Liam doesn’t fare much better with Harry. They seem to get off to a rocky start when Liam asks if Harry is excited for the wedding, considering that he’s the florist and all that. Sometimes even Zayn forgets that this is how they met, and he is suddenly extremely annoyed with Liam although he is being perfectly polite and social.

 

“I uhm… Yeah of course,” Harry says with an uncomfortable smile, poking around his rice and chicken. “What about you, uhm you’re one of the groomsmen I assume?”

 

Zayn chokes at the sudden mention of groomsmen. It’s not like he has never thought about that, but certainly not in recent history. Appointing groomsmen and the best man makes the wedding a lot more tangible and closer than it really is. There’s still time, right? Five and a half months seems to be a long, good stretch of time, no need to rush.

 

“Yeah Zayn, please share with us who your groomsmen are,” Louis says, somehow delighted and teasing him. It actually surprises Zayn that Louis never asked (no, demanded) to be his best man for all the times he needs to be reassured that yes, Louis is still his best friend, and no, not even two and a half thousand miles can change that.

 

“Of course you guys are going to be my groomsmen,” Zayn says, hesitantly.

 

Liam’s face immediately lights up and he gets his overexcited puppy look. “Can I be best man?”

 

Zayn glances at Louis, expecting him to loudly declare himself Zayn’s best man but all he does is shrug disinterestedly and grab another serving of biryani. There’s a part in him that is hurt by that but instead of starting a fight, he turns to Liam and congratulates him on becoming best man. Liam and Niall cheer loudly while Louis only half-heartedly gives his best wishes.  

 

On the opposite side of Zayn, Harry is noticeably quiet, the food on his plate on a constant move. He looks awfully uncomfortable to be here right now so Zayn grabs his hand and strokes over the tattooed cross to calm him. Harry looks up at him and in that moment, it feels like one of those awful, cheesy movies his sisters used to watch: the ones where Hugh Grant’s romantic interst lifts her head, and a smile forms on her face, sticky slow and sweet while Coldplay starts playing in the background, and the protagonist falls helplessly, viciously in love with her. Without even realizing it, Zayn must be grinning back because Harry’s smile grows bigger and bigger until he’s giggling, and if his heart doesn’t stop then, it does when Harry intertwines their fingers together, then strokes Zayn’s mandala tattoo in return.

 

In that moment, Louis manages to completely burst his bubble by repeatedly kicking him under the table.

 

“What?” he hisses. Louis levels him with an unimpressed stare.

 

“I suggest you take your hands off of loverboy, Z. I think I heard the front door.” he whispers back.

 

True to Louis’ words, Gigi stumbles into the kitchen just moments later, Zayn’s hand back in his lap.

 

“Oh hi,” she greets everyone, waving her hand around and looking a bit flustered. “Babe, I didn’t know you stayed in with the guys. You should have told me.” She leans in and pecks him on the cheek, brisk in a way that tells Zayn she’s not happy with him.

 

“Sorry,” he says, getting up to slide up against her, his hand fitting perfectly into her waistline. It’s a reflex for him, so when he sees Harry staring back down at his plate with single minded focus normally reserved for neurosurgeons, he feels like his hand has been burned.

 

“Gi, these are Harry and Niall. Harry and Niall, this is Gigi.”

 

“Oh,” Gigi says, sounding surprised. “Harry as in Kendall’s Harry?”

 

“Kendall’s Harry?” Zayn asks, his mouth suddenly dry. Harry didn’t tell him he was with Kendall, never even indicated that he was taken, Zayn had thought-

 

“Yeah, Kendall and I are friends, and she recommended me to you guys,” Harry answers, finally looking up with a warm smile plastered on his face. Zayn lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. They are friends. Just friends. Nothing to worry about, then. Not that Zayn would be entitled to worry, considering that him and Harry are Just Friends as well. Still, he hopes Harry and Kendall aren’t the kind of friends Harry and Zayn are, whatever that means.

 

“She’s told me so much about you!” Gigi says, excited and delighted. She takes Zayn’s seat and starts gushing about her best friend, talking about the things they got up to the last time she was in LA and asking how she and Harry met. Zayn briefly considers sitting in her lap, because he sat there first, thank you very much, but he doubts Louis would let him, and he doesn’t want to see Harry’s shoulder tense up like a moment ago when he only touched Gigi’s waist. Plus, Harry seems to get along with her fine so he resorts to taking a seat next to Niall who looks at him sympathetically and asks “Y’alright?” in a pitying tone and all Zayn can do is smile weakly at him and shove a piece of naan into his mouth.

 

Maybe dinner isn’t going as great as Zayn had previously thought.

  


#

 

“Liam hurry the fuck up!”

 

“Sorry, sorry I’ll be quick!”

 

Louis taps his foot impatiently at the end of the stairs, rolling his eyes. “I can’t believe Liam overslept and not us two,” he says, grabbing a cigarette and gesturing towards the balcony.

 

“You can grab a flight later if all fails.” Zayn says. It’s possible that he wants Liam and Louis to stay a little longer, even if it’s just a few more hours. The weekend passed by way too quickly, and Zayn already misses them dearly. Louis must notice Zayn’s dejection because he wraps his arm around his shoulder as he puffs out cigarette smoke.

 

“Why didn't you want to be my best man?" Zayn asks after a long pause.

 

"I have never said I didn't want to," Louis says, sighing loudly like he knows this whole discussion is going to be ridiculous.

 

"You didn't protest when Liam asked, though."

 

Louis shrugs. "I guess I wouldn't mind."

 

"But?"

 

"But… Zayn, do I really have to spell it out to you?"

 

"Yes! For God's sake."

 

"But," Louis inhales sharply, his fingers tapping his cigarette relentlessly for fallout. He lifts his chin, steel eyes set on Zayn's like he's finally ready to say his piece. "But I just think it's pointless to become best man for a wedding we both know isn't going to take place."

 

And there it is. The reason why Louis never asks about the wedding, never asks if Zayn needs help. This is the reason why Louis goes silent and tense every time Liam does. It's not that he doesn't care, it's that he thinks that Zayn is making a huge mistake and that somehow hurts more than Zayn would ever have thought. The last time Louis refused to support him was when he left the band and this right here feels way too familiar.

 

"I've never told you before because I didn't know how," Louis goes on when the silence stretches for too long.

 

"You always tell me your shit opinions, even when they're not welcome," Zayn grits through his teeth. He doesn't want to start a fight but he can't help it, because when he and Louis are on rocky territory, they _fight._

 

"Yeah, but not when it comes to Gigi," Louis says, rolling his eyes. Zayn wonders if he knows he does that every time he says her name or if it has just become a reflex.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"You think I hate her and every time I say something against her, you flip out and we get into a fight cos you're a dickhead."

 

"That's not true! And you're always unfair to her, never even gave her a chance!"

 

"Well look at us now!” Louis yells, taking a step back and throwing his hands up like he’s done. “I’ll admit that I’ve been unfair to her in the past - but this has nothing to do with me not liking her enough and everything to do with _you_ not liking her enough!”    

 

“So that’s what you think?” Zayn yells back, unable to keep his voice down.

 

“That’s how it _is_!” Louis spits back, and points his cigarette accusatory at Zayn. He looks like he’s in fight mode now and Zayn braces himself for more allegations like he’s a defendant in court. So it is surprising when Louis drops his hand again and lets out a weary sigh, all the hot air suddenly let out of him. “I don’t want to fight, Zayn,” he says. “But I want to be honest with you. I don’t think you and Gigi are working anymore and I think you’re going to make a huge mistake marrying each other.”

 

Zayn opens his mouth to protest but Louis talks over him. “No, hear me out. I know I’m not part of your relationship so I probably know shit. But you two don’t seem as in love as you used to. I mean, I can count on one hand you two talked on the entirety of this trip. You’re like two friendly ghosts that float in and out of each other’s lives, Zayn.”

 

Zayn doesn’t know what to say to this, so he resorts to staring at Louis open mouthed. He feels like he should defend himself but honestly, all he wants to do is go lie in his bed and pretend he hasn’t heard any of these words. With silent horror he watches Louis flick his cigarette into the pot of yellow orchids Harry gave him last week, the one which he carefully prepares baths for and whose leaves he dries painstakingly afterwards. He quickly fishes out the offending cigarette and examines the plant for any burn marks.

 

“I’m guessing these aren’t Gigi’s.” Louis drawls. “Didn’t mean to ruin loverboy’s little flowers, sorry.”

 

Sometimes Zayn really forgets how well Louis can read him. It’s as astonishing as it is terrifying.

 

“He must be really good in bed to have you care so much about that little plant of his then, yeah?”

 

“We haven’t slept together!”

 

“But you have thought about it.”

 

“I have not!” Zayn exclaims, but of course Louis knows he’s lying because he smiles at him like he’s humoring a child. Zayn hates to admit it, but fatherhood looks good on Louis.

 

“It’s okay, you can tell me,” Louis says in the nicest tone he has used all weekend. It’s a soft spot for Zayn and Louis probably knows, that conniving bastard.

 

“I mean, maybe I’ve thought about it a few times?” Zayn mutters and is immediately smacked on the head. “Ow! You said it was okay!”

 

“I said it’s okay to tell me, I didn’t say it was okay to think about cheating,” Louis scolds him. “I mean if it was just sex, I wouldn’t worry so much, but you actually _care_ about him, don’t you?”

 

Zayn bites back the growl that is trying to escape from his throat. He doesn’t understand why Louis is so hellbent on making him think about his life, question his decisions. Maybe being a dad made him more mature than Zayn and that is another thing he doesn’t want to think about. Luckily, Zayn is spared from answering Louis’ question by Liam who bursts out onto the balcony like a madman, whisking Louis away to the airport and leaving Zayn to stew in his own thoughts.

 

#

 

There are many things Zayn is good at: singing, selfies, and art. But one subject he has always excelled in is denial. He has become pretty good at ignoring his problems until they blow up in his face. So it should be a surprise to absolutely no one that Zayn does exactly this after his talk with Louis: he denies every single point Louis has made and resolutely does not think about them. 

 

Life goes on fine like that; Gigi and he are doing fine as always. They work a lot and vaguely plan their wedding whenever one of their mums call. Gigi’s lips grow thinner and thinner the more her mom calls her and soon she must be ignoring her because that’s when Yolanda resorts to calling Zayn instead. He likes her, he really does, but he also understands why Gigi lets her calls go to voicemail. By the end of their talk, Zayn has three different menus worked out, the number of a renowned wedding planner, and a splitting headache. Thirty minutes on the phone with his future mother-in-law have somehow been more productive than two entire months of wedding planning with Gigi and Zayn is suddenly overcome with the urge to fling his iPhone at the wall. 

 

It only gets worse in the week after, when Gigi’s mum decides to pay them a surprise visit. She arranges a meeting with a friend of hers who is a professional wedding planner and literally can’t stop talking about that. “Mom, would you please stop?” Gigi snaps an hour after her mum arrived. “Since you already hired someone, what’s the point of talking about the wedding at all?” “Gigi,” her mum says gravely and continues to talk about guest gifts. 

 

And this is how he finds himself on Harry and Niall’s second hand couch. He has fled the flat after lying about having a work emergency and, having nowhere else to go, he asked Harry if he wanted to hang out tonight. 

 

“Sorry, it’s a bit messy,” Harry says, putting down two cups of tea on the wobbly coffee table. Zayn smiles at him. “It’s a lovely flat.” And it is. It’s small but cosy; the room they’re in is divided into a living room and a kitchen by a bookshelf which is filled to the top with books, magazines and knick knacks. It feels a little bit like he’s in his grandma’s house to be honest: crumbling white walls peppered with picture frames, a colorful kitchen with a mismatched dining table and chairs, and the couch that looks like it’s from the 80s, covered in pillows and blankets. Every square centimetre feels lived in and like someone has put thought into it and Zayn wants to cry with how much this feels like home.

 

“I’m sorry I’m intruding,” Zayn says, “I just didn’t really have anywhere to go.”

 

“Everything okay?” Harry asks, leaning his arm against the back of the couch and looking at Zayn with a worried look. He really has the prettiest eyes Zayn has ever seen, a pale green contrasted against dark, long lashes. Everybody always tells him he has the most gorgeous eyes but they probably haven’t seen Harry’s yet. Suddenly, he is stuck between the urge to instagram Harry with a caption like  _ Look at him. Isn’t he beautiful? Haven’t I made a good job at finding him? _ But then he remembers that he could never do that without the press and fans getting the wrong impression of him. They’ll think he’s cheating (which, okay, he technically did, but it only happened once and was a diplomatic kiss between friends) and won’t stop haunting him and Gigi. 

 

“Everything’s okay, I mean,” Zayn pauses. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, about the wedding and Gigi and his future mother-in-law. “Just needed to get out for a bit, I suppose.”

 

Harry smiles at him like he's curious but doesn't press any further, thankfully. Zayn is kind of a shit liar.  “So you've decided to come here?” Harry asks,  “I'm flattered.”

 

Zayn doesn't tell him that he really didn't have any place else to go, mainly because it would sound like Zayn doesn't want to be here, which he absolutely does. There is literally nowhere else he would rather be right now, nowhere else he feels so warm and welcome in.

 

“So what do you usually do for fun around here?”

 

It takes a few seconds for Harry to think of an answer and he strokes his fingers against his chin, mesmerizing Zayn momentarily. Harry's hands are big, his fingers long and slender with various rings decorating them. Zayn wonders what they would feel like on him and whether the saying is true, Big hands, big -

 

“Usually Niall and I don't do anything, to be honest,” Harry says, interrupting Zayn’s pressing thoughts. “We sometimes watch movies, or play board games and that’s it? I mean, we could go to the pub and visit Niall, but I don’t think you want to go out and be spotted? Unless you want to dress yourself up, which is always fun, actually.”

 

Zayn files that information for later. Or not, he thinks, mentally kicking himself because he’s not here for that kind of thing. He’s just hanging out with his friend, running away from wedding planning duties. From what he’s seen in movies and on TV, bridegrooms are forbidden to help anyway, so if you think about it, in a weird sense he is actually doing the right thing.

 

“We can watch a movie. Any suggestions?” Zayn asks.

 

“You’re the guest, so you get to decide,” Harry says, pulling out his phone to type something in, “We got Netflix last month, so we can watch almost anything.”

 

“You only got Netflix last month?” Zayn asks exasperated. It’s 2020 and Zayn doesn’t think he knows anyone who doesn’t have some sort of streaming service.

 

“Well… yeah. I mean, Niall has had it for a while? If I wanted to watch a movie I went to get it down at the rental shop.”

 

“There are still DVD rental shops?”

 

Harry nods, “Yeah, but they had to close last month because no one ever goes there anymore, I suppose. Only grandmas and, well, me. I should have gone there more often though, maybe then Mr. Barinov would still have his business.”

 

Zayn reaches out to take Harry’s hand and stroke his little cross tattoo again. “It’s not your fault, babe.” he says.

 

A small smile blooms on Harry’s face when Zayn calls him ‘babe’ and he thinks he should maybe do it more often. “I know. But I still feel bad about it you know? Now I’ve gone to the dark side, too, and I have no idea how to act around Mr. Barinov when we bump into each other at the grocery store. I’m scared he somehow knows.”

 

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t,” Zayn laughs. “How about we watch the new Marvel movie? I haven’t seen that one yet.”

 

“Uh sure,” Harry says, scrolling down his phone for the movie, “Do you have to watch the other ones to understand it? Because I have only seen the Thor movies.”

 

“You haven’t seen the other movies?” Zayn asks, incredulous. Then, “Wait, why only the Thor ones?”

 

“I really like his hair. It sounds stupid but he made me feel a little bit braver about mine because some people were giving me shit about it. I didn’t find out until later it was actually all just a wig,” Harry chuckles, running his hands through the ends of his hair.

 

“Well, I really like your hair,” Zayn says. He can’t help but touch a strand, feeling the silky-soft texture run along his fingers.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, ‘s sick.”

 

“For what it’s worth,” Harry says and returns the gesture, his hand brushing along Zayn’s cheek briefly. It is safe to say Zayn is ready to explode then and there. ”I really like your hair too. Makes you look like Aladdin.”

 

And all Zayn can do in that moment is to lean against Harry’s hand and close his eyes. He has to take a deep breath before he does something stupid, like leaning in and licking his way into Harry’s stupid, pretty mouth.

 

“You look like a Disney prince, too,” he whispers without meaning to. But it’s true, Harry does with his long hair and his angular face and a smile that probably attracts birds and woodland creatures. But Zayn knows: Disney princes end up with Disney princesses, and he has no right to think about Harry like that in the first place. He has found his Jasmine, the person he wants to build a whole new world with, the one he wants to spend his forever with.

 

 _Then why does_ _this feel so tempting?_ , Zayn thinks, pressing his hand against Harry’s and breathing in the scent around him, which he can only describe as a mix of vanilla and sandalwood and home and _Harry, Harry, Harry_.

 

#

 

They come as far as _Iron Man 2_ when Harry starts getting squeamish and jiggly.

 

“Stop it,” Zayn laughs, grabbing Harry’s shaking leg as Scarlett Johansson crushes a man with her thighs on screen.

 

“Sorry,” Harry whispers sheepishly. “Have you ever met her?”, he asks after a few minutes, nodding at the screen.

 

“Who? Scarlett Johansson? Why would I have met her?”

 

Shrugging a shoulder, Harry says, “Don’t know. Don’t famous people just… know each other?”

 

“Aren’t you friends with Kendall? She’s in the papers every other week, you know.”

 

Harry blinks a few times. “Right. I tend to forget that she’s considered famous. I sometimes don’t even know who is famous unless they are actors I saw in movies. I dated one of Kendall’s friends a few years ago and I had no idea she was a popular singer? Next thing I know, a horde of paparazzi followed us to the park and my sister calls me and asks me if I was a groupie now.”

 

Zayn can’t stop his laughter from bubbling up. He shouldn’t laugh though because he remembers when he was followed by paparazzi for the first time. It’s a lot to take in, especially when you don’t expect it.

 

“It wasn’t so bad though,” Harry says, looking pensive, “I mean, I was a bit scared and they were a bit rude, but I guess they are only trying to make a living, too. So I smiled and waved at them but my ex got a bit angry with me because you’re not supposed to act like you see them, apparently. Later she gave me lessons on how to act around her in public and I think that’s when we started falling apart.”

 

Zayn has a pretty good idea who Harry is talking about and is vaguely impressed that he dated her at all. But he is more interested in the part where Harry said he was scared of paps. Zayn is surrounded by them sometimes, mainly because they know where Gigi and he live and because she has to get papped for her job every now and then. So he’s sure Harry would hate a life like this, constantly expecting a pap around the corner or a fan with a camera, filming his every move. It must be pretty terrifying for an outsider to experience that kind of thing and not for the first time Zayn is reminded of how different their lives are. Just by looking around the flat he can see that, while decorated beautifully, it is a complete opposite of his place, which sometimes reminds him more of a fancy hotel suite than an actual space someone is living in permanently. It makes Zayn feel frustrated all of a sudden, and it must show on his face because Harry reaches out to him and takes his hand in his.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did I say something stupid?”

 

Zayn shakes his head. “No it’s nothing you did. I just. Sometimes paparazzi follow me too and I don’t know. I guess if we’re going to stay friends, they’ll get you too and they might follow you around, and I wouldn’t want that for you.”

 

“Hey,” Harry says and for the first time, Zayn notices how close they are sitting together because he can smell the mint gum Harry has popped in after the last movie. He can actually feel Harry pressed against his side and his arm around his waist. It’s strangely comfortable and as Zayn nuzzles himself into the side of Harry’s neck he realizes it’s calming as well. “First of all, you’re not that famous okay. I didn’t even recognize you when you walked into my shop and insinuated I was a prostitute.” Zayn bursts out laughing at the memory of how they’ve met. It feels like a million years ago now. “Second of all, I don’t care about paparazzi. I doubt they would even take pictures of me when you’re standing next to me. Do cameras even work that way? Take pictures of other things and people when you’re in their vicinity?”

 

Zayn should be used to people complimenting his looks, but this is different. He doesn’t know what to do or what it means when his heart starts beating like that, when his stomach flutters like insects have made it their home. So all he does is bury his nose even further into Harry’s neck before he mumbles, “As if you aren’t beautiful, Harry.”

 

“I’m alright,” Harry mumbles back, “I have nothing on you and your cheekbones though.”

 

That makes Zayn sit up a bit and glance at Harry’s face to see if he’s joking. There’s a small but fond smile on his face as he looks down to Zayn. It does something to Zayn’s head because he opens his mouth without even meaning to: “You can’t be serious, Harry. You’re literally one of the fittest blokes I have ever met.”

 

Zayn can feel Harry squeezing his waist, pulling them even closer and he’s pretty sure he’s ready to melt into the points their bodies meet. It’s comforting and soft and Harry smells so _good,_ like a mix of scented candles and, for some reason, Tom Ford and something unidentifiable that must be Harry himself. Zayn once read an article that argued that scent plays the most important role in attraction and long term relationships. Something in your sensory system knows when someone is compatible by the microflora on their skin and the hormones it gives off. Apparently, their compatibility level must be off the charts because all Zayn wants to do is push Harry on his back, climb on him and bite marks into his neck like he’s trying to brand him. And the worst thing is: Harry must feel exactly the same because he’s looking at Zayn with almost black eyes, his hand now holding onto Zayn so hard it’s probably bruising and Zayn definitely shouldn’t like the thought of that as much as he does, but he wants Harry to press even harder so he will be left with Harry’s fingerprints on his skin.  

 

They are staring at each other for what must only be a few seconds but feel like a lifetime. Time seems to be moving trickling-slow in that moment, like an hourglass only allowing to pass through one grain of sand at a time. And then, then everything happens all at once when Zayn grabs Harry by his neck and pulls him in slowly. It’s so much different from the first time, when they were pushed together by lust and attraction and primal urge, but this somehow feels both better and worse than that. Zayn moves his lips against Harry’s, flicking his tongue for permission which Harry of course gives and without even realizing it, Zayn’s on his back with a lapful of Harry gently grinding down on him.

 

It’s almost too much at once: Harry’s tongue in his mouth, Harry’s thighs bracketing him, Harry’s growing erection pressing angrily against his hip. All Zayn can do in that moment is helplessly grind upwards and groan when Harry moves his mouth along Zayn’s neck. His hands move along Harry’s back until they grip his ass, drawing their bodies even closer. Zayn growls with the need to get Harry’s kit off so he can really burrow his fingers in there, maybe even get his mouth on it.

 

The thought of that, of parting Harry’s cheeks to get his tongue in there, of Harry face down on the bed and desperately tugging at his cock is what has Zayn leaking in his pants like a goddamn 14-year old.

 

True to any teenager, Zayn gets overly eager so he flips them over, so Harry is the one lying on his back now and Zayn moves in between his legs.

 

“Fuck, Zayn,” Harry says, biting his lip, as Zayn tries to desperately get his pants off. They are practically glued to Harry though, and the task of sucking cock seems impossible, given Zayn’s limited brain capacity at the moment. He lets out an annoyed huff and Harry just laughs at him, with his adorable bunny teeth, so Zayn has to crawl up again to kiss his giggle away. Harry gets out of his skinny jeans with a practiced ease, and, Jesus fucking Christ, he’s not wearing any underpants so his erection slaps against his abdomen the moment he gets his pants off.

 

Zayn takes a few seconds to just admire Harry’s cock - it’s uncut unlike his and it’s definitely on the bigger side which makes him wonder what it would feel like inside him. It is also a pretty dark pink color which matches Harry’s flush on his cheeks and _fuck_ , Harry is a leaker. Zayn wants nothing more than to have a taste of it. He doesn’t even remember what precome tastes like because it’s been so long since he had sex with someone who had a dick and balls because he’s been with Gigi for ages and-

 

 _Gigi_.

 

It feels like someone has tipped a bucket of ice cold water on him. Fuck. He’s engaged, what is he doing here? He’s engaged to one of the most beautiful women in the show business, and he’s about to have sex with their wedding florist. Gigi and him have been together for years, she has always been there for him, has always been loyal to him. He can’t throw this away for someone he has met less than two months ago, right?

 

“I have to get out.” Zayn chokes out, his cheeks hot from embarrassment. He can’t look at Harry as he gets up and grabs his jacket from the kitchen chair.

 

“Wait what?” Harry asks, confused.

 

“I’m sorry, I need to go home to Gigi, my fiance.” Zayn winces at how snappish he sounds and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that Harry must look like he’s been punched. Because when he says “Oh, okay.” in this really small voice, Zayn knows he has hurt him.

 

Zayn is a fuckup. He’s a cheater to Gigi and an asshole to Harry and a liar to himself. And because he is such a fuck up who loves hurting himself above anyone else, he takes a last look at Harry before he leaves the flat.

 

It takes everything in him not to stay in that moment, when he sees Harry wiping one of the blankets against his eyes. But he has to leave, has to go home to Gigi, so that he can stop being the fuckup that he is.

  


#

  


The cold night air hits him when he leaves Harry’s building and sobers him up almost immediately. He bundles up tighter in his thin denim jacket as he walks down the unknown street. He knows he should call a car because his flat must be several miles away from here and he doesn’t actually know the exact route to go home. In a weird way, Zayn thinks he absolutely deserves to walk home aimlessly in what must be an uncanningly freezing spring night.

 

As he adjusts the hood on his jacket so he doesn’t get recognized, he starts to recall this evening, what has led to it, and his conversation with Louis. _This has nothing to do with me not liking her enough and everything to do with_ you _not liking her enough_ .  He wants to kick and scream because the words have been stuck in Zayn’s head for a week now, popping up in his head at the most inconvenient times. He would be lying on the couch watching TV with Gigi sitting on her spot by the window and look at her, and think _Do I love her enough?_ before quickly dismissing the thought, because of course he loves her. He wouldn’t have been with her for four years if he didn’t love her.

 

Then he thinks about how they met back when he left the band, one of the most miserable times of his life. They met at the shooting of his first music video and she was like a light shining on his life. With no time at all, she became the first real friend he made in America other than his agent and producer. She was there for him when no one else was, it was her he texted when his calls to Louis and Liam went unanswered, it was her he confided in when he felt his anxiety trying to eat him alive.

 

In a way, Gigi has been a pillar for him that has been supporting him for the last few years, and helped him find himself when it felt like everyone else had abandoned him. The thought that he might not love her anymore or not love her enough leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. It’s just not right. He tentatively pokes around his feelings for Gigi and thinks about everything they have been through, and comes up with the conclusion that there is fondness, there is appreciation, and yes, there is love, too.

 

Maybe they have changed too much. Maybe their love has transformed into something more quiet and less romantic. Maybe he fell out of love with Gigi but that doesn’t mean she’s not important to him anymore. They’re not the same people they were four years ago and Zayn is tired. He’s tired of pretending that he’s fine, that a wedding is going to fix everything, and that he hasn’t already moved on from this relationship.

 

He runs a hand through his hair as he exhales shakingly. Letting go is hard. But Zayn also knows, letting go of things is necessary and important and good for personal growth and health. He has run away from that realization for too long but now he is ready. He is ready to let go.

 

#

 

When Zayn gets home, he finds Gigi at her usual place by the window, looking down the city. She seems lost in thought because she doesn’t even notice Zayn coming in.

 

“Hey,” he says tentatively. “Where’s your mom?”

 

She greets him with a warm but distanced smile that momentarily unsettles Zayn. “I sent her to a hotel for the night.”

 

“Right.” Zayn says, taking a step closer and looking out the window like it makes the next words easier. “I think we need to talk.”

 

Gigi nods and then Zayn notices the ring box on the coffee table and sees her eyes tearing up.

 

“Yeah, I think we do.”

 

#

  


In the end, breaking things off with Gigi is both harder and easier than he had thought.

 

It’s easy because their decision to split was mutual and there are no actual hard feelings. (Although she did kick him in the chest when he confessed what happened between him and Harry. ‘You’re a jerk but is it bad that I don’t actually care?’ She later asked.) He moves out to a hotel. Gigi agrees to keep the stuff he can’t take with him in boxes in her storage room in the meantime. He spends two hours on the phone with Louis reassuring him that he is fine and then another hour with Liam whom he has to comfort for some reason because he feels worse about the break up than Zayn does.

 

It’s hard because the press are sharks that immediately swim to their prey once they’ve sniffed even the tiniest trace of blood. Paparazzi are relentlessly camping in front of the hotel he’s staying at when they realize he has moved out of his and Gigi’s apartment. It’s hard because he is basically homeless now and while their place never really felt like home, it was nice to come home to something that he could call his space. The hotel feels awfully impersonal and Zayn wants to scratch the perfectly maintained hardwood floor or paint the sleek white walls a bright green, just to make it his. One of the reasons why he broke up with Gigi was because he didn’t feel like he belonged in her world, like he was a tourist visiting a strange land and staying there way too long. It’s just frustrating to realize that this aspect of his life has only gotten worse. He’s aching for somewhere, no, _someone_ that makes him feel at ease. He’s dreaming of coming home to a small flat with crumbling walls and an old couch and a curly haired boy with dimples so deep you could hide nuclear weapons there.

 

However the worst thing about all of this is probably Harry not answering his calls. Every time he tries to contact him it goes straight to voicemail and it’s driving Zayn insane. He considers going back to Harry’s but then he remembers that Niall threatened to kill him if he ever hurt Harry and something tells him that he should not underestimate Niall, as much as he might be the impersonation of sunshine and all good things in the world. He also thinks about going to Harry’s workplace but he’s scared one of his coworkers might be there instead and sell his photo to the highest bidding magazine.

 

 _Maybe_ , he thinks as he scrapes the last chocolate chip bit from the _Ben and Jerry’s_ he got from the minibar, _Maybe I should give him some time and write an apology letter instead._ Harry once told him how he’s still very much a fan of handwritten letters and that stuff so that’s how Zayn ends up sitting at his desk with a pen and nice stationary the concierge was nice enough to send up to him.

 

The problem is: he doesn’t know what to write, or if he does he has no idea how to write it. He doesn’t understand it though because songs roll out of his brain almost instantly when he needs them to. So he finds his way back to the little kitchenette of his suite and pours himself some whiskey with more ice cream. As it later turns out this was not the brightest idea he ever had because the longer he stares at the blank paper, the more he drinks and the more he drinks, the more desperate and frustrated he gets. So by the time midnight rolls around, he is spectacularly, off-his-ass drunk.

 

He takes out his phone and sends a string of desperate, probably incoherent texts to Harry until he realizes that he has probably been blocked. Then he gets sad and angry and opens his twitter. Somewhere on the back of his mind his sober self is watching in horror, begging him to not do this, but who cares? Drunk Zayn is in charge now and he does whatever he pleases even if it means that he has to make a fool of himself. Even when sober he tweets a lot of crap, so this can hardly be anything new to his followers.

 

 **@zaynmalik:** Flowers only need you and water cos youre the sun x

 

 **@zaynmalik:** A thousand roses cant compare to your lips

 

 **@zaynmalik:** Im sorry ive cut your skin with my thorns

 

 **@zaynmalik:** I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry

 

 **@zaynmalik:** Please dnt kill me niall

 

 **@zaynmalik:** harryrryrrry

 

#

 

When Zayn wakes up the next morning, it’s with a throbbing headache and his phone relentlessly ringing next to him where he passed out on the couch. It takes him a few seconds to move but then it occurs to him who could be calling him and he accepts the call without even checking the caller ID.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Tell ya bloody security guards to let me in, wanker.” Niall greets him, sounding annoyed and harassed.

 

Zayn sits up a little straighter. What is he doing here? “Give me a minute.” he says and gets up to clear things up with reception and security.

 

“You’re an idiot, did you know that?” are the first words that come out of Niall’s mouth when Zayn opens the door. “Tweeting that for the whole world to see?”

 

Zayn looks at him, confused and then he remembers. Oh god. He opens his twitter and there they are, the tweets that make it look like he ripped open his heart and showed it for everyone to see.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers, feeling more nauseous than before. His publicist is going to kill him.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Niall says, scrunching his nose at Zayn like he’s disgusting or something. “You should really take a shower before you go see Harry.”

 

Zayn freezes. “What?”

 

“What else would I be here for?” Niall asks, rolling his eyes at him. Then, he takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his blonde hair, becoming calmer. Angry really doesn’t look good on him. “You have no idea how angry I was at you on Harry’s behalf. I was ready to skin you when I found out that you were the reason for Harry crying his eyes out at night. I thought you were just leading him on and then felt so guilty you broke up with Gigi and now blame Harry. But then Louis showed me your tweets and… I guess you are serious about Harry?”

 

“Yes! Of course I am! I tried contacting him, but he isn’t responding I think.”

 

Niall looks at him with squinted eyes for what feels like a very uncomfortable eternity until he sighs and takes out something out of the backpocket of his jeans. “I’m giving ya one chance.” he says dangling his keys in front of Zayn’s face and Zayn wants to jump through the roof with gratitude. “I’ll stay here until you guys have it sorted and order everything that's orderable for room service.”

 

Needless to say, Zayn can only barely keep himself from kissing Niall.

 

#

  


Getting the right key for the front door takes forever. By the time he’s got it, he’s convinced that the old lady looking out from the window above is calling the police if the stinky looks she gives him are anything to go by. He smiles up at her awkwardly to appease her, figuring she probably doesn’t know who he is, then slips into the building when she tugs the curtains closed again.

 

When he gets to Harry’s door he hesitates. He has no idea what to say to him, how to apologize for bailing on him like that, how to convince him to give Zayn a second chance. He is just about to knock when, suddenly, the door opens and Harry stands there in front of him, a dumbfounded look on his face, a beanie shoved on his head, wearing a grey hoodie and some ripped jeans. He looks unfairly good even if he has some dark circles and is a bit pale and Zayn wants nothing more than to lean in and give Harry a hug, but that might be a little too much.

 

“Hi,” Zayn says, waving an awkward hand at Harry. “Were you going out?”

 

“I… yeah,” Harry replies, avoiding any eye contact by staring to the floor. He looks impossibly small right now despite being an inch or so taller than Zayn and having a broader frame than him. “It can wait though,” Harry mumbles and takes a step back to let Zayn in. He wants to ask if he is sure but then he might miss his chance to talk so he walks in with a quick “Thanks, Harry.”  

 

Once inside, Zayn can’t bring himself to turn around to face Harry, and the tension in the room seems oppressive as well as palpable. Zayn has always been bad at articulating himself and communicating his thoughts and feelings and this situation is even worse because there is a kind of pressure he feels because this is absolutely important to him. He touches the leaves of a plant just to have something to do and think of something to say.

 

“Would you like some tea?” Harry asks from behind him like he can’t help it, can’t help being nice and polite even to a guy who has been a grade A dick to him.

 

“Oh, I’m fine, thank you.” Zayn says, equally politely, and then winces because damn, since when has he felt this awkward around Harry? They have always gotten along, almost from the get-go and there are only a handful of people Zayn feels like himself around. He needs to fix this, even if it means they will go back to only being friends. Being friends is a thousand times better than being strangers or ‘the famous guy I once knew and left me with a boner in my living room’.

 

“I’m sorry.” Harry says when the silence stretches for too long and Zayn turns around, looking at Harry with furrowed brows.

 

“Wait, what?”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I ruined your wedding and relationship, I should never have come onto you like that, but I couldn’t help it, you know? It’s like… Icarus trying to kiss the sun or something, I don’t know.” Harry rambles, his arms wrapped around himself and looking even smaller than before and all Zayn can do is walk over to him and hug him. He never meant to make Harry feel this way, has no idea how on earth he could even think that the ruined engagement was Harry’s fault. Harry stiffens up at the contact, then relaxes after a few heartbeats like he can’t help it, like their bodies react to each other in a way that immediately spells comfort.

 

“Babe, it’s not your fault. I can’t believe you think that. Things between Gigi and I haven’t been rosy for a while now and… even if you hadn’t come along I’m sure I would have realized this. You just helped me _a lot_ , okay?” Zayn says, running his hands against Harry’s back slowly, gently like he is a distressed cat that needs to be calmed.

 

“No way I helped, I only made things worse.” Harry mutters against Zayn’s neck. He tries not to shiver because this is absolutely not the right moment for getting a hard on.

 

“You didn’t. I’m so fucking sorry I made you sad, it never had anything to do with you, I swear. Hey look at me, Harry, you made me remember what it feels like to… to really fancy someone. You made me remember what it feels like to feel like home. Hell, you made me remember what it feels like to be _happy_ , I mean genuinely happy in a way that every single cell in your body knows you’re in love.”

 

Harry looks at him with huge eyes, his cheeks filling up quickly with blood. “In love?” he asks, a disbelieving smile forming on his face and Zayn wants the floor to swallow him, make him disappear because of course he blurts something important like this out like it’s nothing. He has known for a while now that he’s pretty much gone for Harry but he never in a million years meant to say it like this. Harry deserves a bed of roses, his favorite scented candles and a five course dinner when someone confesses to him.

 

“Yeah, is that okay?” Zayn asks nervously. Oh god, what if Harry doesn’t feel the same? What if he only fooled around with Zayn out of boredom or pure lust? He has the sudden urge to just run out of the flat, but he won’t do that to Harry again. His feet are decisively planted to the ground, even if he is admittedly terrified at the moment.

 

Harry looks into his eyes like he is trying to find the truth in them, and then his face breaks out in a huge grin, bunny teeth and dimples all out and Zayn can’t help but let out a relieved laugh at that. “It’s more than okay, Zayn.” Harry whispers, his eyes positively twinkling and inviting and who is Zayn to decline this invitation? So he leans in, accidently bumping noses with Harry, making the both of them chuckle before placing a gentle, dry kiss on Harry’s lips.

 

Harry moves in closer to deepen the kiss, making it rougher and with more tongue and soon, it has Zayn panting and half hard in his sweatpants.

 

“Is this okay?” Harry asks, in between licking and kissing along Zayn’s neck.

 

“Yeah fuck,” Zayn swears. “Bedroom?”

 

Somehow, Harry manages to lead them to his bedroom all the while kissing and groping and undressing, so by the time they make it to the bed, Zayn is fully hard and naked and so is Harry and, Jesus Christ. It’s a lot to take in. Harry has a lot of tattoos, all scattered around his body and they look kind of ridiculous, but somehow, he manages to pull them off effortlessly just because he’s hot as fuck. He can’t help but run his finger along the butterfly tattoo because he’s wanted to do that since the first day they met, Harry’s shirt unbuttoned almost all the way, and Harry shivers, his abs contracting so it looks like he has a decent six pack and his pink cock twitching interested.

 

He moves his finger up higher until they find Harry’s nipples and he rubs them until they’re hard and perky and Zayn’s pretty sure he’s leaking from just this, from touching Harry and hearing his moans. He takes Harry’s cock into his hand and starts lazily wanking him, watching as Harry’s legs fall open wider and wider, giving Zayn a nice view of his balls and hole.

 

“Turn around.” Zayn tells Harry, giving him a final tug. “Don’t touch yourself.”

 

“Fuck,” Harry says and does as he’s been told. Zayn takes a moment to admire the smooth planes of Harry’s shoulders and back which taper into delicate and slim hips and a nice, full ass. He has to stop staring when Harry throws a half-empty bottle of lube and condoms at him.

 

“I’m okay with whatever you want to do, but you might need these.” Harry pants into the pillow, his bum raised in the air and legs spread apart. If Zayn didn’t know better, he would think he is in some kind of porn.

 

“Tell me if you need me to stop,” Zayn says, kissing along Harry’s spine until he reaches his ass and gives it a light bite just because he can’t resist. Above him, Harry lets out a surprised yell that is followed by a quiet chuckle which makes Zayn’s heart jump. He instantly kisses the spot better before digging his lubed thumbs into Harry’s hole and parting his cheeks. Harry pushes back when he realizes what Zayn is about to do, like he is offering himself up for him and Zayn’s mouth is watering with the image of Harry riding his face.

 

He gives Harry an experimental lick, just so he gets eased into it. Harry moans loudly, which tells Zayn that he is definitely into this, so he pushes his thumbs in deeper, opening Harry up a little wider and flicks his tongue in there. Zayn almost startles when Harry shouts out loudly, pushing his ass even further up which gives Zayn an even better view and access. So it is only polite of him to eat him out with vigor, his mouth opening up Harry more and more. He can tell that Harry must be close because every time he rolls his hips into Zayn’s face, his cock rubs against the sheets, leaving a sheen of precome behind.

 

Zayn himself is painfully hard and has to give himself a short squeeze to get rid of some of the pressure. He wants to wank off to this so badly, shoot his load on Harry’s perfect curve of his ass, or maybe come on his face after having his dick sucked. Fuck, he could come from that thought only, his spunk dripping from Harry’s pretty pink lips and chin.

 

“Stop,” Harry moans suddenly with Zayn’s tongue still inside of him. He almost doesn’t catch it because he’s so into it but he does, so he quickly scrambles off Harry because maybe he doesn’t want this? It would disappoint Zayn of course but he would never ever force Harry to do something he doesn’t want to.

 

“What is it, are you okay, babe?” he asks, worried, his own cock completely forgotten in the face of Harry being hurt.

 

Harry turns around and looks Zayn directly into the eyes before shoving lube and condom into his lap. “Fuck me, please.” he says and parts his legs for Zayn to slide into. Zayn almost chokes from the determination in Harry’s voice. He coats his fingers in a generous layer of lube and pushes the first one in, which goes easily, so he pushes in two fingers in. Harry groans, grinding them deeper into himself, and when Zayn finally uses three fingers, Harry starts to properly fuck himself on them. His moans get louder and hips circle around Zayn’s fingers faster and faster, the precome now smearing on his belly instead of the sheets.

 

For a moment, he considers just letting Harry do that until he comes all over himself, until he paints that pretty butterfly white, but he did request of Zayn to fuck him, so he should do exactly that.

 

“Let me,” Harry says, taking the condom from him and ripping it open with his teeth and looking proud of himself, like that is actually impressive. He leans over and wraps his hand around Zayn’s dick to give him a few tugs and Zayn almost comes then and there. He really isn’t going to last long, especially considering how eager Harry is, how beautiful he is.

 

He lines himself up for Harry and then pushes in, trying not to go all the way in and instead giving Harry time to adjust. But Harry is having none of that because he pulls Zayn in with his legs on his ass, cursing appreciatively when Zayn slides in deeper. And now Zayn can’t help being loud either and he would feel bad for Harry’s neighbors if he cared at the moment.

 

He doesn’t though and instead gets lost in the feeling of Harry and trying desperately not to come on the spot like a teenager. He pulls almost completely out of Harry, only the head of his cock still in him, teasing a desperate “Please Zayn,” out of Harry before sliding in again. He does this again when Harry has enough of Zayn’s games and flips them over so he’s riding Zayn into oblivion.

 

He’s getting closer and closer and so is Harry, who still hasn’t touched himself. So Zayn plants his feet on the mattress and pushes his cock deeper into Harry, hitting his prostate continuously and Harry throws his head back, riding Zayn harder and harder before Zayn takes mercy on him and starts wanking Harry in the rhythm of his thrusts. He only needs a few tugs before he comes messily on Zayn’s chest,  and Zayn can’t control himself then, grabbing Harry’s ass and fucking into him with abandon.

 

“Come on, babe, come for me,” Harry pants and he must be exhausted from sitting up like this and getting fucked even after he has come, but he holds himself up for Zayn, twitching one of his nipples and that sends Zayn over the edge. His hips still as he comes into the condom and Harry must feel it because he scrunches up his nose, but lets Zayn finish in him regardless.

 

“That was nice,” Harry says, politely as he climbs off Zayn and lays down beside him.

 

“Just nice?” Zayn asks, mock offended, and gets up to get cleaned up.

 

“Alright, it was pretty amazing!” Harry admits quickly, sitting up and looking alarmed. Zayn looks at him puzzled. “Please don’t leave,” Harry begs.

 

“What? Oh god no,” Zayn says, bewildered and walks back to the bed to stroke Harry’s hair. “I wasn’t going to leave, I promise. I just wanted to throw away the condom and get cleaned up and get you a flannel or something.”

 

“Oh,” Harry says, and then laughs at himself like he’s being an idiot. “So you’re not going to leave?”

 

“Only if you want me to,” Zayn laughs back.

 

“I want you to stay,” Harry says, quietly but confidently. Zayn takes his hand, strokes over the little cross tattoo, and says, “Yeah, I could do that.”

 

Harry’s face lights up like the sun suddenly breaking through the clouds coloring the world in her warm rays. Zayn has to lean in then and give him a peck on his forehead, making Harry giggle. Given what they just did it shouldn’t be as adorable as it is but Zayn’s heart still clenches at the sound of it and at Harry’s squeezed eyes.

 

“Are you really going to stay?”

 

Zayn turns around when Harry speaks up, sheets rustling around them. Harry’s eyes are closed now, his lips parted and looking like he’s halfway to falling asleep.

 

“Of course I’m staying,” Zayn answers after a beat, watching Harry’s eyes flutter open, eyelashes catching in the strand of hair that’s fallen over his forehead. Zayn tucks it behind his ear for Harry, his fingers stuttering the tiniest bit, his breath hitching when Harry dopily smiles at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“Why would you?” Harry counters, his smile dimming. “I don’t fit into your life at all, Zayn. I’d say Hi to paps and wave at them and probably get pictured buying lube cause I’m shite at being discreet. I wouldn’t be able to stop talking about you and next thing you know I will embarrass you in front of the whole world and there will be a thousand articles about it. Trust me, I’ve done it before and I suck at it.”

 

“Harry,” Zayn says softly, wrapping his arms around him, their legs tangled together like a sailor’s knot. “You could never embarrass me, babe. And I trust you that you can keep the important bits about me to yourself, have more faith in you. I mean, if you want to I can give you some tips on how to deal with them, but honestly, you’re perfect as you are and not even _I_ know how to lead this life I’ve been leading for ten years now.”

 

“That’s really sweet of you, Zayn.” Harry says. “But… I don’t know. Do we even fit together? I'm a florist who lives in a one-and-a-half bedroom apartment and who has worn the same boots for four years. And you are… you.”

 

Zayn frowns. Of course he knows that he is famous, that he and Harry lead very different lives. It couldn’t be more obvious. But he never considered that Harry might have a problem with that, and Zayn gets it: Having your life spread out on the _DailyMail_ sounds horrible, always expecting someone to take a picture of you sounds horrible. Harry doesn’t seem the type to enjoy that - but somewhere in the back of Zayn’s head he had hoped that Harry would at least be impartial to that, that he would handle it well.

 

“I’m just a normal guy,” Zayn mumbles quietly. He can’t tell Harry it’s not that bad or that he will get used to it, because fact is: it can get pretty bad sometimes and Zayn has still not gotten used to it so it would be unfair to ask of Harry to do so.

 

“I know that,” Harry says. “But everyone else doesn’t, right?”

 

“I suppose so.” There’s a moment of silence as Zayn bites his lip in thought. He almost doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. “Do you want to end this?”

 

There’s sudden movement, and Zayn watches Harry get up so they’re looking straight into each other’s eyes. Harry levels him with a disapproving look, that Zayn can’t help but find adorable.

 

“Of course not, Zayn. Don’t be daft. I’m just… worried? That I’m not the right person for you, I guess. I’m neither rich nor famous nor particularly accomplished. Maybe I’m not good enough or too different.” He runs a hand through his hair that Zayn gently takes into his.

 

“Is this what you’re thinking?” he asks, incredulous. He takes a deep breath and decides to just tell Harry how he feels because he needs to know, needs to understand this. “There’s no way that this is true. If anything I am the one that’s not good enough for you. Harry, you’re literally one of the kindest and peaceful people I have ever met and for the first time in years I feel… serene and comfortable. Like I’m at peace. Like I’m at home.”

 

Harry just looks at him with big eyes, so, naturally Zayn feels kind of exposed so instead, he climbs into Harry’s lap and buries his face into his shoulder.

 

“You feel like home, too.” Harry whispers into Zayn’s neck.

 

There is still a lot to talk about and a lot of hard stuff to deal with in the future. But as Zayn draws invisible lines into Harry’s back, making him giggle quietly, a sound Zayn would very much like to replay for the rest of his life, he is sure that they will make it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> congrats, you've made it to the end!! please feel free to comment or talk to me on tumblr @zinical. thanks so much for reading this!


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